You Think I Can't Fly? Well You Just Watch Me!
by hrhAcid
Summary: 19th Century. Denmark makes the mistake of siding with Napoleon, what will he have to pay for his blunder? Vaguely historical, progressing DenNor and historical angst. Enjoy!
1. Battle of Lyngor

"You…you British bastard!" Denmark hollered clutching onto the splintered mast floating above the still water, gunpowder smoke hung in the summer air, silence rung in his ears.

"Come out wherever you are, coward, bastard, son of a bitch!" He called again in desperation, his hands losing grip on the cold, slippery wood, throat hurting from the cold air and shouting.

Smooth rhythmical swishing of water broke the silence as the blurry silhouette of a boat glided towards him, he squinted his eyes but could not make out the details. The icy ache spread up the veins in his legs, hurting him from the inside it seemed, the leather boots pulling him down into the depths. Gritting his teeth he clutched the broken mast tighter, splinters digging into his palm and between his fingers. Bitter sensation of defeat numbing in his chest.

"Good morning, Denmark, "drawled England leaning out of his small rowboat, folding his hands over the edge and laying his chin on them, his face covered with black smears of gunpowder soot but glowing with triumph.

"To hell with you and your good mornings, how dare you sink my Najaden?!" Denmark growled pulling himself up to look defiantly at the victor, seething with rage.

"You aligned yourself with the French wanker, I honestly warned you," England shrugged with a grin, "He's bloody doomed to fail just like you, I promise you that much."

"Goddamn you!" the Nordic hissed, kicking his legs underwater struggling to stay on the surface.

"I highly doubt he's going to do that," England pointed out then turned to his men," Alright lads, I'm satisfied, back to the ship." He commanded, as the boat moved slowly away he waved at Denmark, "Ta-ta, I hope this teaches you a lesson, my Nordic friend, never go against the British Empire!" he called condescendingly and dissipated into the fine mist.

When left alone Denmark almost wished England hadn't left, he tried to think what this defeat would mean for him, and for Norway too, he wanted to think about Norway even less than about England, he was afraid- he felt it in his gut that it would end in so much more than plain scolding. If only he could drown and die, but as a nation he could not. With a dull thud he pressed his forehead to the sodden wood, mind going cloudy.

"Man overboard!" Norway called to the scurrying sailors, he lowered his spyglass, muttering curses under his breath he paced the deck recognising the figure in the water all too well.

"It's Danmark, sir!" the first mate reported, as the rowboat was swiftly dropped upon the water, men rowed it forward enthusiastically, hoping for it to be a foe assuring them of the victory of a Dano-Norwegian frigate.

"Yes, I know," Norway grimaced, "bring that moron on board."

Denmark was shaken out of his stupor as strong hands hauled him into a rowboat; he blinked up at the lantern held uncomfortably close to his face.

"It's Herr Danmark!" one of the sailors exclaimed. Whispers ran through the group, 'so we lost?', 'he looks so beaten', 'do you think Herr Norge knows?', 'maybe the English are still nearby!', 'well, shit.'

"The light. Get it out of my face." Denmark said hoarsely trying to prop himself up on his elbows, "And get me to Norge, is he here?"

"J-ja," the closest sailor gasped," Unnskyld!" then he commanded the other to row.

Denmark tried hard to focus, he felt like fainting, eyes shutting on their own accord. He swayed in his seat unaware of his surroundings for what seemed like eternity to him, praying for death over and over again, a monotonous chant in his head.

"Well look at you."

His eyes shot up to meet Norway's expressionless blue orbs.

"Hej." Denmark tried to smile weakly. Norway shook his head and extended his arm, looking down at the Dane in the rowboat. Denmark felt his throat dry painfully, wet sleeves sticking unpleasantly to his arms as he took Norway's warm hand, looking down in shame.

"So they sunk Najaden, am I right to assume so?" Norway asked pulling Denmark up not too gently almost sending him stumbling down onto the deck.

"Ja." He replied softly "Undskyld, Norge."

The sails flapped in the wind that came in short, bitter gusts. July had never felt this cold, Denmark thought shivering in his sodden clothes but trying hard to stand still, to at least appear strong.

"Idiot." Norway scoffed pursing his lips, "No matter," he sighed, "I knew they would, England is much stronger than you. "

"But I- …no-no…" Denmark looked away miserably, "You're probably right."

Norway felt a light twang of pity and guilt; hesitantly he laid his hand on the Danes upper arm.

"You were outnumbered." He relented, "You're wet, there's some spare clothes in my cabin, let's go."

Without waiting for an answer the Norwegian turned on his heel and made his way towards the cabins, Denmark followed him sulkily, blond hair falling in his eyes and sticking to his wet forehead, tousled by the wind.

Norway stood in the middle of the small cabin a clean shirt and a pair of pants in his arms; he looked blankly at the Dane standing awkwardly by the door, "Come here, idiot." Norway snapped, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

Denmark approached him obediently still looking down, swaying as the ship rocked.

"Oh fucking hell, Danmark, get yourself together." Norway chided, nimbly undoing the string on Denmark's linen shirt.

Denmark nodded crouching down to let the shorter Norwegian pull his shirt off, the drenched fabric was thrown on the floor carelessly and Norway moved onto the red sash on the Danes hips, his fingers struggled with the tight knot scowling in frustration, finally it came undone dropping heavily on the floor followed by the sheathed sword that landed on the wooden tiles with a loud thud. Denmark wrapped his arms around himself, trying to rub out the goose bumps. Norway undid the buttons on the Danes breeches and dragged them down his legs before they got caught by the thick leather boots.

"Sit down." He commanded.

"Norge, I can do it myse-" Denmark muttered wearily.

"Sit down." Norway repeated pushing against the Danes bare chest, losing his balance Denmark floundered on the berth hitting his head against the back wall. Silently Norway kneeled before him pulling off the boots and pouring the water out of them right on the floor.

"How long have you been there in the water, Danmark?" Norway asked slipping the breeches off the Dane's legs.

"I don't know, the British engaged us in combat early this morning." Denmark shrugged pushing his hands though the sleeves of the new shirt that the Norwegian pulled over his head.

"I see. So you were unprepared and outnumbered." Norway mused guiding Denmark's feet into the trouser-legs one at a time.

"Ja." The Dane mumbled and stood up letting Norway's hands on either side of his waist pull up the dry breeches.

"Well, that's just great." Norway took a step back, "You ought to sleep, you probably got hypothermia, there, in the water." he waved his hand vaguely.

"Maybe." Denmark muttered indefinitely, crawling under the covers of Norway's berth, breathing shakily.

"I'm going up to the deck, I need to speak to the captain."

"Norge…"

"Ja?"

"Kys mig, vil du ikke nok? …"

Norway turned around, cocking his eyebrow. He crossed the room and stood over the Dane's figure, curled up under the blankets. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Denmark's cold cheek.

"Tak." The Dane smiled and turned to the other side.

"Idiot." Norway mumbled and walked out, shutting the door tightly behind himself.

_To be continued…_

**AN: I suppose an introduction is in order, well, this is set during the Gunboat War of 1807-1814, and DenNor was historically canon as the Dano-Norwegian union. As the smart people here probably know that was the time of the Napoleonic wars and long story short Denmark-Norway aligned themselves with Napoleon and England went Navy rage on them. The boat that keeps being referred to here is the Danish frigate Najaden that was sunk by the British on July 6****th**** 1812 at the battle of Lyngor. It was the last big fight between the two Navies. Tell me what you think! History is not particularly meant to be the strong point of the story so I'm making most of the details up but I have researched it, honest! This isn't planned to be too extensive but for all I know it could become a multi-character Napoleonic fic? We shall see, constructive criticism and/or any praise is obviously welcomed and desperately desired. **

**Enjoy,**

**Acid**

**Translations (I speak neither Danish or Norwegian so any mistakes is the internet's fault *sweatdrop*) : **

**Ja – Yes (both Danish and Norwegian.)**

**Herr - Mr (both Danish and Norwegian)**

**Unnskyld- Sorry (Norwegian).**

**Undskyld- Sorry (Danish).**

**Hej- Hey (Danish).**

**Kys mig, vil du ikke nok? - Kiss me, won't you? (Danish)**

**Tak- Thank you (Danish)**

**PS: Oh and also I feel like I have to mention: the whole undressing Denmark deal was meant to be more compassionate rather than erotic, sorry if that dissappointed anyone! Norge isn't too lovey-dovey I'm afraid.**

**PPS: I edited the last little bit with perfected Danish- Thank you soo much dear guest reviewer! I really appreciate it- it sounds much,much better now! Really- thank you very much! 3 **


	2. We lost

_Denmark strode out onto the deck of his beloved frigate in the early hours of the morning, when the air was still crisp and smoky, grey like it is before sunrise. _

"_Ah, this air! D'you feel it, Cap'n? This is Norwegian air, I can swear on it, how far away from the coast are we?" he asked stretching his arms out, filling his lungs with air to expel all remnants of sleep. _

"_We aren't far from_ _Lyngør, Herr Danmark, sir." Replied the captain gazing out of his spyglass into the distance through the morning fog, the pale speck of light from a lighthouse twinkled to their right._

"_Nice!" Denmark drawled, "Won't be too long until I see my Norge, then."_

_The captain averted his eyes and scanned the horizon again, a small gasp escaped his lips as he spotted dark silhouettes approaching from the west, blue, red and white clearly visible on the flapping flag. "Eh, what's wrong?" Denmark asked looking down at the captain curiously. _

"_The English, sir, they're here." The man replied, swallowing the lump at the back of his throat. _

"_So early," Denmark whined, "it's a little rude. Alright," he fingered the sword at his belt, "let's deal with them quickly. Signal the other ships in our squadron. Hoist our colours high, we are Danes after all!" Denmark grinned cockily._

_The captain saluted and scurried off, raising the sleepy sailors but they moved slowly, not grasping the situation, lulled into a false sense of security by the promised near end of the war and the calmness of Norwegian waters._

_The first cannon shot sounded soon after, it came from the Brits, without warning or negotiation. Splinters shot up in the air as a cannon ball broke through the gunwalls and skittered over the deck halting at Denmark's feet. He blinked slowly, "Bloody hell…" he mumbled in disbelief, "Return fire!" he hollered finally scrambling up to the quarterdeck, but the victors were already decided . The English came up close to Najaden, shooting their muskets at the sailors, Denmark quickly spotted the smug man, standing confidently, hands on hips, thick eyebrows arched upwards contentedly. _

"_Don't shoot the tall blond lad, it is Denmark himself, he's mine." Commanded England locking eyes with the Dane, he then cocked his pistol and neatly shot one of the Danish sailors who was just loading a cannon, "No blowing holes in my ship, thank you! Surrender now!" _

"_Bastard!" Denmark growled unsheathing his sword, throwing himself on the rigging, blond hair flowing wildly in the wind. _

_More splinters flew into the air and with a loud crack the mast tumbled down, screeching amidst the cries of men, and it all blurred, there were running figures, maybe? Flames? And he was tumbling down._

_Then there was the water and the ship was gone, and the water was cold and the sea and sky were silent. _

Denmark sat up in bed, a deep frown on his face, wrapping his arms around himself at the still fresh memories haunting him. The ship rocked slowly and the small cabin was illuminated by the flickering warm glow of a candle on the table, scribbling away at the paper Norway was hunched over his work.

"Norge?"

"Ja, what is it?" the Norwegian didn't even turn around, it vaguely hurt Denmark, always did.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Denmark muttered rising on his elbow.

"I had no good reason to wake you, Danmark, besides why would I want to endure your wakeful presence for more than I absolutely have to?"

"I can't be sleeping at a time like this!" the Dane argued, shakily sitting up, wincing.

"Time like what? We lost, moron, sleep all you want." Norway stood up, sliding the chair back sharply. One hand on his hip he looked at the Dane sternly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Do you care?" asked Denmark, his lips pursed and composure stiff.

"Yes and no."

Norway made his way over to the berth sitting down on the edge by the Danes knees.

"Expain?"

"Nei." Norway kicked off his boots and crawled up on the bed, roughly shoving Denmark towards the edge, the Dane didn't protest, he knew Norway liked to sleep next to the wall.

"I'll probably leave, you know." Norway said evenly, turned away facing the wall.

Denmark felt as if all air was knocked out of his lungs, "W-what?" he wheezed.

"Someone stronger will take me, Sverige maybe," said Norway matter-of-factly, "You won't get to call the shots anymore, you're getting weak."

"B-but why does that mean you have to leave me?" Timidly Denmark touched his shoulder, pain dripping thickly from his voice. He could've sworn that he felt colder now than he did in the water that morning.

"That's the way it works, idiot. Now let me sleep and stop being annoying, at least Sverige won't keep me up in the middle of the night, babbling." Norway shrugged his hand off, groaning.

"You know what else he won't do? He'll never give you his heart, Norge. I'd rip mine out for you," mumbled Denmark, voice shaking.

"I know. I don't want it, keep your heart to yourself, idiot. Don't hold it out to just anyone, I can't believe I actually have to tell you but then again you are a moron." Norway breathed in hard through his nose.

"Did you feel that way all along?" Denmark asked softly, looking up at the ceiling. Norway rolled over to face him, kicking the Dane lightly, lips pursed into a thin line.

"Yes and no."

"Explain?"

"Nei."

"I love you?"

"I hate you too."

**AN: Hey tout les monde, so yes I decided to continue it... more for myself it seems xP but it is getting very angsty, I'm in the middle of writing chapter 3 and it only gets worse, I promise. Erm, I really didn't get much feedback on this and it's kinda sad… tell me where I went wrong! Please! But I'm enjoying the writing process so its alright..**

**Thanks anyway!**

**Love,**

**Acid**


	3. Iceland

If it was up to Denmark he'd outlaw the dull days of idleness after the surrender, the damned all powerful French invader had fallen and Denmark cursed him every way he knew. Sweden was bound to come knocking any day. He looked over to the other side of the hall, Norway was silent for quite some time now, but then again when was he not? Though today he was just staring off into space, lips pursed into a thin line.

"Norge?"

"What do you want now?"

"It's the first time I've called you today…"

"Ja, well what do you want?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm not answering that, idiot."

"It's just you looked worried…"

Norway harrumphed and turned on his heel swiftly leaving the room. It was worth the shot, Denmark thought, a pout forming on his lips. 

Norway didn't come down from his chambers for lunch. Denmark sat alone at the head of the table, swirling his spoon in the pumpkin soup.

"Norge?" he called into empty space, the lonely sound of his voice echoing off the stone walls.

"Miss me already?" the door behind him opened softly, footsteps muffled by the carpet.

"Ja." Denmark mumbled honestly.

"You'll have to do better than that." The Norwegian muttered folding his arms over back of Denmark's chair, laying his chin on them.

Denmark drew in a shuddering breath, "Come eat, Norge."

"Not hungry."

"Then just sit with me."

Norway chuckled softly taking a chair on the Dane's left side.

"You know when Sverige takes me…there'll be many things I'll need to do," the Norwegian said casually, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.

Denmark dropped his spoon, wincing at the loud clank it made. Norway pretended not to notice, smiling cleverly to himself.

"I think I can negotiate some sort of personal freedom with him, my country has been in stagnation for far too long, it's time to do something about it, Sverige is very reasonable after all," Norway continued, drumming his fingers on the polished table surface.

"Ja, of course he is," Denmark sighed, realising instantly that the comment was a direct insult at him.

"But he sure is making me wait, we all know he's going to claim me for certain so where on earth is he?" Norway mirrored the Dane's sigh, a small pout on his lips.

"I'm sure…he'll be here soon," Denmark said his voice getting lodged in his throat, and stood up abruptly, leaving his food virtually untouched.

"Where are you going?" the Norwegian asked curiously, smirking wider.

"Frederick wanted a chat," Denmark replied lamely though he knew that his King was in a very similar mood to himself.

Norway smiled, but it wasn't one of the rare warm smiles that Denmark loved, this smile was infuriating. He took deep breaths, lips moving, muttering words of frustration, fear and anger.

"Then you won't mind if?..." Norway reached out to take his plate still grinning slyly.

"Go right ahead," Denmark mumbled stalking out. 

Out in the corridor Denmark bumped into Iceland who was wondering around just as restlessly as him.

"Hej, little fella," Denmark grinned weakly, ruffling the shorter nations silver hair.

Iceland lightly swatted his hand away, puffing out his cheeks in disdain. The Dane chuckled softly and turned to walk away but Iceland grabbed his sleeve, tugging at it urgently. Denmark turned his head half way, cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

"You're upset." Iceland remarked, licking his lips nervously.

"Oh?"

"It's because Norge is looking forward to leaving you, isn't it?"

Denmark flinched as if physically hit, Iceland just put into words what he felt but couldn't quite put a finger on.

"He is?"

"I don't know, but he just won't shut up about it, he's been very excitable lately. But you should know more about this than I do." Iceland chided.

Denmark leaned back against the wall, frowning deeply, receiving all the confirmation he needed.

"I like you, Island." He muttered patting the boy on the back absent-mindedly.

"Don't push it, Danmörk, just because you can't get your precious Norge doesn't mean I'll suddenly warm up to you, selfish bastard." Iceland grumbled, anger imposed blush on his cheeks,

"Of course not," Denmark smiled softly turning to leave once again.

"I don't think he's treating you fairly though, you know, it's as if he doesn't have a heart," Iceland said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"He's just keeping it to himself, Ice, because he's smart, smarter than me I suppose."

"Doesn't make him a better man though." Iceland shrugged. Denmark turned to him, eyes ablaze with renewed hope.

"You're staying with me though, right Island?" Denmark asked nonchalantly, lips curling into a crooked smile.

Iceland shuddered at the sight of the Dane's expression; it was the look of an empire.

"Silly, silly Island, of course you are." He crooned.

"No, I'm going with my brother, sorry Danmörk." Said Iceland apprehensively, taking a careful step back.

Denmark scowled; just about everyone he cared for now wanted to abandon him, without a second thought.

"_You won't get to call the shots anymore, you're getting weak."_

Being strong… is that all Norway cared about? …And Iceland too for that matter it seemed.

"To hell with Norge, but you're staying, Island. I promise." He murmured darkly, stalking off before the silver haired youth could respond.

Iceland shivered all over as he watched the clouds cluster together and darken, ripples running over the canal. Arguing against the Dane was pointless, he knew that well, but the thought of being separated from his brother was excruciatingly painful. He starred out the window in anguish. 

Norway rapped his knuckles on the door to Denmark's personal study, without waiting for an answer he entered, holding a large envelop with a red seal in his outstretched hand.

"What's that?" Denmark asked warily, twirling his quill in between his fingers.

"A letter."

Denmark leaned forward and recognised Sweden's royal emblem on the seal immediately. He groaned.

"It's probably a peace offering," Norway shrugged, "Denounce the French bastard already, moron." He grumbled.

"Oh, since when are you interested in my affairs?" replied Denmark coldly.

"Since I'm still married to you it's _our_ affairs," Norway chided knitting his brows together, "Just take the damn letter and we'll meet Sverige."

"Fine, go away."

"My pleasure."

Gritting his teeth together Denmark sliced open the seal and perused the letter, written in neat uniform handwriting and not to mention in English even though Sweden knew that Denmark spoke it badly. Denmark wondered just what else he'd have to put up with, anger boiled up in his chest at being looked down upon by ... _everyone._

**AN: Not happy with the ending of this chapter but c'est la vie, so, I did quite a bit of historical research for this, got myself horribly confused but I hope it was worth it and now I know which direction to go forward in. Denmark and Norway are being awful to each other (more so than usual) because a big change is coming… **

**Sweden appears next chapter with a tinsy little mention of Finland but in a tragically historical way…**

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**Love,**

**Acid**

**PS Sweden wrote in English for reasons… trust me.**


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